Pseudo-Jetsetter

I don't know how real jetsetters handle such a lifestyle.

Only the second consecutive day of getting up early for yet another 8.30 flight, and I was already so fucking tired in the afternoon.

My energy level has declined so much these days.


More goodies for the Queen today.

A two-hour long massage at the end of the exhausting retail tour kickstarted the night.

I couldn't even think about dinner. Room service would suffice tonight - complete with a nice cup of Irish coffee.

The bathtub in this hotel doesn't look as inviting, so I think I'll skip the bathsoak tonight.

Today shall be hair-day. An oil treatment, followed by a mask treatment.

Yeah, that's what I'll do. And then, I'll put on another mask after my hot shower.

I'm already thinking of my foot massage for tomorrow's treat.


I still haven't found a pressie for myself.

Should I? Shouldn't I?


*****

"How did you spend your birthday?"

"Erm... in hotel room."

...

"Are you ok?"

"Not really."

I think I'm in a latent stage of depression.

I need to pull myself out of the blackhole I seem to be spiralling toward, before it engulfs the whole of me again.